


(Just) By Your Side

by writergirl8



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Mutual Pining, Set pre-5a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7344919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia's in love with Stiles. </p>
<p>Isaac is there for her. </p>
<p>Despite what Stiles thinks, this is the least complicated thing in her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Just) By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, let's get all of these notes out of the way!
> 
> So, this is a birthday gift for Rachel-- itsalwayslydia on tumblr. These are her head canons about Lysaac, and I think I may have fucked them up some but this is what came out??? So I'm sorry Rachel. I hope you like this. 
> 
> For the record, this fic is endgame Stydia, but with some Lysaac sin that's pretty much platonic. And there's some Stalia in here, fair warning, but it's all from Lydia's POV.
> 
> Aka... please don't hurt me. 
> 
> The title of this fic is from Three Cheers for Five Years by Mayday Parade. I wanted to name it "you'd help me out of the dark" from the same song but my beta reader, reyskywalkerrsolo on tumblr, said that she'd bring me ice cream tomorrow if I named it this, so ta da. 
> 
> And I'm pretty pumped for my mocha oreo ice cream.

"What's so good about France anyways?"

Lydia offers Isaac a distinctly annoyed look as he stares at himself in the camera on facetime, his eyes flashing only briefly to her face before he returns to his own.

"I like it here," he says, shrugging. "The bread is good."

She rolls her eyes at her laptop camera.

"Be serious."

"I don't have as many nightmares."

The 'about what' is almost on the tip of Lydia's tongue, but she knows what Isaac's nightmares are about. They're about his father. They always are. Sometimes she'll wake up to frenzied texts, filled with confused words and typos and fears and Lydia blearily reads through all of them, knowing that it's okay that she wasn't awake— Isaac had just needed a sounding board.

She thinks she might be the first sounding board he'd ever had. He doesn't protect as much around her. In turn, she doesn't protect around him either.

"What do you think?" she asks. She's lounging on her bed, feet kicked up into the air, hands steady as she paints her nails a bright, vicious red color. "Is France the cure-all for nightmares?"

Isaac nods.

"Totally. Just get over here right now, you're set for life."

"I'll start packing," Lydia says drily. "Thanks."

The two of them are quiet for a moment, and it's easy. It's nice. Lydia focuses on painting her ring finger. Isaac's eyes are on something slightly to the right of the computer screen. Lydia wonders if he's staring at something, or if he's just gazing into the distance.

She lets him have the moment, though. She lets him have his peace.

"How's your summer going?" Isaac says eventually. "Is… everyone okay?"

"Scott's fine," replies Lydia, a knowing glimmer in her gaze. "He's still with Kira. He plays a lot of lacrosse. We went to a theme park the other day and lost Liam for a good, solid thirty minutes."

"How did you lose a whole person?"

"Well, I wasn't apart of that particular group, but I think he just wandered off and nobody noticed."

"How'd they find him?"

"Scott and Stiles got into a bicker fight about who lost him until Malia just called him on the phone and found him."

Isaac places a hand over his heart.

"Oh, so literally nothing's changed at all."

"Exactly," Lydia says. "Exactly that."

He nods to himself for a moment, then says exactly what Lydia doesn't want to hear.

"Does it suck being the only single person left in the pack?"

"Liam's single too."

"He doesn't count."

Lydia hesitates before saying,

"I know."

Isaac reaches off camera and picks up his cup of tea, blowing on it lightly.

"Answer the question."

"Isaac."

"Seriously. Just answer it."

Lydia bites her bottom lip. Can't look at him. Can't look at herself in the screen of her laptop.

"I _hate_ it," she says flatly. "I feel like I'm alone all the time. I feel like I don't belong in the pack anymore. I feel like I'm a casualty of Allison's death." She pauses. "And who drinks hot tea in the middle of summer?"

His mouth quirks up into a smile.

"I like it."

"You're also wearing a scarf," Lydia points out.

"The air conditioning is blasting so that I can drink my tea."

She puts the nail polish back into the bottle, screws it tight, and then stares at him, feeling like this is the exact moment that both of them know that they need to embrace the silence of what they have. They have this quietly existing friendship where Isaac doesn't judge and neither does Lydia.

It's one of her favorite things about opening her eyes and living. She feels like she has someone who needs to lean on her still. She feels like she has someone to lean back on.

Lydia isn't fully aware of when this entire thing started, but it began with a random phone call about a box Isaac needed sent, then a random 'how are you?' and then a random 'I'm missing someone and I'm lonely and you're missing someone too.'

They both still miss Allison. But it's good to know she's not the only one isolated. It's good to know she's not the only one who's drowning.

(If he came back, maybe he could catch her? Pull her out of the water? Or maybe he'd swim with her. Lydia doesn't know which is preferable.)

"Did you sleep with that girl again?"

"The one from the store?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah." He nods. "Did you say it out loud yet?"

Lydia frowns.

"I'm not going to."

"Why are you—"

"Because I _can't_ ," she bursts out.

He _tsks_ dramatically, emphatically. It's clearly on purpose.

"Someone's tetchy."

"Because you're shoving me."

"Someone needs to."

"Why do you care?" Lydia demands. "You don't even like him?"

A small grin washes across Isaac's lips.

"Right, right," he agrees, "But you _do_."

* * *

 

Scott makes the whole pack come to his house for a welcome party after he picks Isaac up from the airport. Lydia always dresses too carefully for full pack things. This time, she tells herself that it's for Isaac. Because she hasn't seen him in a while and she wants to look nice.

It isn't for Isaac. He'd probably tell her that if she brought it up.

She parks behind the jeep, effectively blocking Stiles in— and feels vindictively good about it— and heads into the house, trudging through the sticky heat. The light summer dress that she is wearing is definitely a good choice, but Lydia wishes she had put her hair up instead of curling it.

She feels unnecessarily angsty. Slightly out of control.

Scott's house is blasting air conditioning when Lydia lets herself in. Different pack members are milling about— Lydia immediately bipasses Malia and Stiles and heads towards Kira, her smile forced.

"Hi," Kira says brightly, tucking her hand into Lydia's arm. "How was your night last night?"

"Oh, it was—" Lydia begins. Her eyes swivel around the room, finally coming to land on Isaac, who is standing in a corner, talking to Scott. He catches her gaze and smiles brilliantly, and Lydia pats Kira on the arm. "Will you excuse me?"

She rushes across the floor, almost knocking Liam over, and Isaac walks quickly up to her. They collide in a hug so enthusiastic that Isaac lifts her off the floor, squeezing tight.

"Hi," she whispers, her eyes closed. "Thanks for visiting."

"You needed me," he whispers back before he sets her down on the floor. "Plus… there's stuff here."

Scott comes to stand next to him.

"Isaac was just telling me about his school," he says, unusually chipper. Lydia wonders if maybe he feels a bit more completed now that his pack is all together. A little more at peace.

She's already heard most of Isaac's stories, so she wraps her arms around his arm and leans her head on his shoulder while he talks to Scott. Her eyes skate around the room absently, and when she catches Stiles staring daggers in their direction, Lydia almost subconsciously shifts closer to Isaac, nuzzling slightly into his arm, her nose brushing against the bottom of his clean t-shirt sleeve.

He smells good. Like boy. She's missed that.

If Lydia had been expecting some sort of awkwardness between the two of them, having not even been _friends_ the last time they saw each other, she is mistaken. They have a practiced ease about them throughout the night. Lydia doesn't leave Isaac's side very much. He doesn't want her to. He stands with his warm hand heavy on her waist, and it is a good kind of heavy. It's grounding.

The pack heads into the backyard, where Scott makes Stiles set off illegal fireworks to celebrate the fourth of July a little bit late.

"You missed it," he says by way of explanation to Isaac, shrugging in an offhanded way.

Isaac smiles so big, and Lydia squeezes his side, making him jump. When he looks down at her, he's still grinning.

"Do you want to hang out with me and Stiles tomorrow?" Scott asks later that night. The pack is milling about the backyard, with fairy lights strung up. They're all strewn about in chairs and in different groupings, battling the mosquitoes. Lydia thinks it's perfect. "I think we're just gonna play some video games and grab a pizza."

"Actually," Isaac says. "I'm hanging out with Lydia."

She doesn't remember agreeing to that, which she tells him later, as he walks her to her car.

"Yeah," he says, leaning against it, smiling at her. "I just assumed."

Lydia quirks an eyebrow, smiling a little.

"You assumed, did you?"

"Should I keep on assuming things?"

Lydia slides her eyes up thoughtfully before she rises up on her tiptoes and presses a long kiss to his cheek, right near the corner of his mouth.

She pulls back, smirking at him.

"I'll give you a _maybe_."

* * *

 

It's easy to fall into Isaac Lahey.

They go out for ice cream on a pleasantly warm Tuesday night, Lydia's skirt blowing gently in the breeze. He carries her bags around the mall and sits on his phone in the corner, waiting for her to finish trying on dresses and skirts. They spend their mornings in the coffee shop at the corner by the school, talking about everything that isn't important. It's easy to fall into Isaac Lahey because he is the person who had been there for her since Allison died, and now that he's continuing to be there for her, Lydia finds it easier and easier to lean against him.

He tells her about the way his mom died one day when they're sitting next to the pool at her house, and she climbs onto his lawnchair with him and curls up into his side, her head on her shoulder, her hand on his chest. He puts his hand on her back and kisses the top of her head and lets her stillness soothe him.

She missed being depended on by someone who depends on her as well. The give and take of Isaac Lahey is Lydia's absolute favorite part of him. She can't remember the last time she had that.

Allison.

Stiles.

But Isaac. It's Isaac. Just Isaac now, because Allison is dead and so is whatever she'd had with Stiles Stilinski.

They're watching a movie one night in Scott's living room— he's out on a date with Kira, and Lydia hadn't wanted Isaac to be alone in the house— when Lydia realizes that Isaac has stopped asking her about Stiles. Usually, he throws it at her in the middle of a conversation, his eyes knowing, his smile a bit of a grimace because both of them know exactly what he feels about Stiles and he has every right to feel that way. She usually dodges it expertly, changing the subject quickly so that she doesn't have to think about the thing that she has been trying to avoid the most this summer.

Except Audrey Hepburn is gracefully, artfully yelling at someone on screen— Lydia strives to be that level of grace when she's annoyed— and it makes her think about Stiles, about how he'd find some of her wording funny because it's very contrived yet still totally cutting, and if it was eight months ago he would have poked her in the side and told her to start taking lessons. And she would have had to stop herself from laughing, because laughing at Stiles has always been her least favorite thing to do. It feels like giving in. In a different way now than it did before.

"Why'd you stop pushing me?" she asks, her chin on his shoulder as she looks at him. The hand that's on her leg doesn't tense. Lydia looks.

"Because I know what you're doing," he says, talking to the TV screen. "I see him with her."

"And?"

"And we both know it's not going to last."

Lydia blinks.

"What?"

"You don't want to be the girl who breaks them up. So, instead, you're going to bide your time and pretend it doesn't hurt. And you're okay with doing that because you think they're gonna end."

His face doesn't change, and neither does his inflection, as he speaks. He rattles off his words like he's reading off a grocery list— like he isn't startling her at his ability to understand exactly what she's thinking.

Lydia isn't sure if he's _right_. But she trusts him more than she trusts herself about this. She has spent too much time hiding. She feels like her own emotions are getting lost.

Not around Isaac, though.

"Sounds like a good plan," she says thoughtfully.

"The best," he says, voice still dry.

"Don't pout," Lydia murmurs, poking his cheek. "By the time I stop being broken, you'll be married with kids."

"By the time I stop being fucked up, you'll be having Stilinski's kids and he won't let me be the godfather."

Lydia wrinkles her nose at that.

"Don't go there, Isaac."

"Too far?" he asks, casually interested. Lydia nods resolutely.

"Too far."

She turns back to the screen and her hand slides over to his, entangling their fingers together.

They don't talk about Stiles again.

* * *

 

"How could you possibly think that N'Sync is better than the Backstreet Boys?"

Isaac sounds so disgusted that it just makes Lydia preen even more, strolling down the street with a self-important smirk on her face.

"Their dancing is better."

"The Backstreet Boys had better harmonies!" Isaac argues, lips twisting upwards with humor. Lydia shrugs, adding a spring to her step as they proceed down the street, hands clasped tightly together.

The road is still wet from where it had rained earlier today, and everything feels cooler and lighter as the sun sinks lower in the sky. Her fingers are loosely tangled in Isaac's as they walk, her nose tilted towards the sky as she looks over at him, taking in the salty scent of rain on pavement.

It's a really beautiful night. There's really no better time to be having this argument.

"Maybe," Lydia says. " _But_. Everybody knows that bands make the most money on tours, and N'Sync was more fun to see on tour because they were better dancers. Given that, they were clearly the more fiscally relevant band. Ergo, N'Sync is better than The Backstreet Boys."

"Stupid logic," Isaac refutes. "What does your heart tell you, Lydia?"

It's a good question. One that she's been thinking about too much lately, and it weighs on her heavily. But there's a sunset in the sky, bleeding orange and purple onto Isaac's face, and he looks like a _statue_ in front of her. Like someone created and sculpted him to make perfection.

She stops walking. Reaches up to soothe her thumb over his eyebrow, watching as he lifts it gently, waiting for her to make a move. Lydia considers him for a moment, then rises on her tip-toes and presses her lips against his right there on the side of the road.

Isaac's warm hands slide up to cup her cheeks, kissing her back sweetly and gently, with no hesitance. She doesn't lose herself in it. She focuses on being good. But still, when she pulls back, she's close to smiling.

"My heart tells me that this summer could be very, _very_ good for you," she murmurs against his lips before finally lowering herself back down to the ground and looking back up at him to see his reaction.

Isaac always smiles with his eyes. She likes that. He never feels the need to give everything away.

"Good," he says simply. "If you hadn't done that I would have had to read a book or something instead."

He leans down and kisses her again, his mouth wider this time, the kiss less sweet. It matches the glint in his eyes as he turns her around and starts pulling her in the opposite direction, back towards her house. Lydia feels better about her decision at each quick step the two of them take. By the time they get through her front door, she's eager for his touch, enough to pull him down to her as soon as the door closes and coax him into kissing her furiously.

His hands don't hesitate in wandering down to her ass and tugging her up so that her legs are around his waist. Isaac flips the two of them so that Lydia is pressed against the wall and he is kissing her with purpose, his hands finding their home under her skirt.

"My mom won't be home for a few hours," Lydia says lowly, nipping at his earlobe.

"That's a good start," he says cockily, then lets her down so that they can walk upstairs towards her bedroom. It feels like they're racing each other. Isaac tugs his shirt off almost as soon as they get the door closed, and Lydia bites her lip, admiring, before he gestures with his chin for her to do the same. She lifts one eyebrow, then lets her tongue slide across her bottom lip before she pulls her shirt over her head and unclasps her bra for good measure, sliding it down her arms.

Isaac's eyes lock on her breasts and don't leave as he walks towards her, eventually crowding her until he's kissing her fervently and backing her into the bed.

It's good, and heady, and Lydia isn't in love with him but she does love him. Her stomach fills with warmth as his tongue circles her nipple before he sucks on it.

He gets her off with his fingers before he fucks her, because he's a gentleman like that, and after she's finished for the second time, he stays and cuddles into her, his smile small and childlike as the fan spins lazily above their heads.

* * *

 

Somehow, Lydia manages to get shoved in the back of the jeep with Isaac, Liam, and Mason while Stiles and Malia sit up front and Scott and Kira zoom ahead on his motorbike.

Lydia would prefer to be almost anywhere else. Including on the motorbike.

Isaac keeps his hands still on her thighs as they drive away from Beacon Hills and zoom towards her lake house, wanting to provide her with contact but not wanting to be obvious about it. They're in the back of a tiny jeep that's only meant to seat three people, and there's four here, and honestly, Lydia should have suggested bringing her own car, but she had been more focused on getting there and getting out as quickly as possible.

"I'm seventeen, why can't I drive?" Malia is complaining up front. This has been a consistent moan throughout the hour that they have been on the road. Lydia is ready to jump out the window. She exchanges an annoyed look with Isaac before both of them look back out at the road, pointedly ignoring the exchange that's happening in the front seat.

"Because, like I told you, here in the non-animal-kingdom, we have to have a license and insurance so that we have somebody to bitch at and blame when we inevitably crash our cars."

"Also because you could literally kill someone in a car, so it's better to know the rules to the road," Mason pipes up, causing Lydia, Isaac, Liam, and Stiles to all glare at him because _yes_ , she knows, they've talked about this before.

Malia frowns at Mason in the rearview mirror before rounding on Stiles again.

"Okay, so when I get a license, can I drive?"

"Yes, you may drive a car," he says, changing lanes without putting on his blinker. Lydia kicks the back of his chair in retaliation.

"But can I drive _your_ car?"

Isaac makes a high pitched, squeaky noise in the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously similar to a laugh.

"Um."

"Why not?" Malia asks immediately.

"Um."

Lydia tunes them out for the rest of the ride, pulling out her phone and texting Isaac instead, even though he's sitting right next to her. She feels like she can't talk to him with other people in the car. In the hour and fifteen minute ride down to her lake house, she makes the decision that this is the last time she's ever going to put herself in a situation that's quite so inescapable.

They pour out of the car in relief once they finally get to the lake house, and impatiently waiting for Lydia to unlock the door so that they can clamber in and begin enjoying actual air conditioning. Scott and Kira, Stiles and Malia, and Liam and Mason all follow each other into the respective rooms that they're used to staying in whenever they're there for the weekend. Lydia grabs Isaac by the wrist and drags him into her bedroom, throwing herself onto the bed once she gets there.

He follows more slowly, sliding on with her and allowing her to turn her body into his, hiding in his t-shirt while he idly strokes her hair.

"Well," he says after a while. "They're annoying."

Lydia laughs into his chest before she finally takes a deep breath, gets up, and goes over to the chest of drawers to pull out a bathing suit.

When she was younger, she used to spend most of her days in bikinis, leaping off of the dock and staying underwater for as long as she could before coming back up, allowing her hair to spring through the air like she was Ariel.

Then she had been fifteen and suddenly couldn't stomach the sight of herself in a bathing suit anymore; couldn't stand the bite marks that sunk deep into her skin, reminding her of the reason she will never be normal again. That summer, she hadn't swum at all. Luckily, high waisted bikinis had come into style, and now Lydia pulls out several, scrutinizing them and trying to decide which ones to wear. She settles on one with a black and white polka dotted top and a red bottom, then pulls her hair into a ponytail and places her sunglasses on top of her head,

"Come on, lunk," she says, tapping on Isaac's shoulder as she leaves the room. "You're not leaving me out there by myself."

A smirk creeps onto his face.

"What? You don't want to be thrown to the wolves?"

"Hardee har har," says Lydia drily. "Let's go."

Kira and Scott are already downstairs, Scott handing Stiles his bathing suit, which he had apparently forgotten, and Kira handing Malia sunblock, which she had definitely forgotten because she always does and refuses to wear it, mostly.

"Fine," Lydia says lightly, passing Malia as she goes to the fridge to pull out a lemonade for Scott. "Burn. See if we care."

The look on Kira's face is surprised, Scott's is just concerned, and Stiles doesn't say anything, instead choosing to duck out of the room so that he can put on his bathing suit.

She wonders if she's ever met anybody as cowardly as he is. Because, really, what kind of guy doesn't defend his girlfriend against something like that?

Malia, however, doesn't seem to be perturbed. She stands in her green bikini looking flawless and unaffected as she allows Kira to rub sunblock into her back, and then they all pour out onto the small beach in front of Lydia's property, enjoying the day.

"It's so pretty here," Kira says cheerfully, spreading her beach blanket onto the shore. "Thanks again for letting us come, Lydia."

Kira is the only one who _ever_ says thank you, aside from Scott, from whom Lydia has come to expect these things. Still. She offer Kira a small smile in return— Lydia's really going to miss her cheer when she's in New York for the rest of the summer— and watches Isaac set up an umbrella over her before she slips down her sunglasses.

"You guys going to go in?" he asks, lying next to her on his own towel and adjusting his own sunglasses. Kira looks over at Scott, who nods eagerly.

"Yeah, let's go," he says, grabbing her hand, and they rush through the sand into the lake, letting out shrieks when they feel the temperature of the water.

Next to them, Malia's got her legs crossed and is beating her open palms against the warm towel that she's sitting on. Next to her, Stiles has his phone popped up on her leg and is squinting as he scrolls through it, trying to see. Lydia sees Malia glance fondly down at him for just a moment, brushing her hand over the top of his head.

Her stomach clenches.

She's already wearing sunblock, but she taps Isaac on the nose and says,

"Would you mind grabbing my shoulders?"

Because Lydia Martin is playing fair. But that doesn't mean she doesn't get to play at all.

He sits up with a rakish smirk on his lips and tugs the sunblock from her hand, setting himself up behind her and sweeping her hair all the way to one side before he begins to massage the lotion into her shoulders. Lydia makes a light sighing sound against him, just for _fun_ , really, and she can hear Isaac stifling a laugh behind her.

It's too easy for her eyes to cut over to Stiles and see the way he's staring at them, brows heavily furrowed against the sun, one eye closed more than the other as he watches, his mouth open slightly, jaw dropped, the rest of his face screwed together with annoyance.

When Isaac leans forward and drops a kiss against Lydia's shoulder, she feels satisfaction coursing through her.

"Let's go," Stiles says abruptly, standing up and reaching for Malia's hand. She rises and follows him into the water.

"You laid that on a little thick," Lydia notes, reclining back against the towel and glancing over at Isaac.

"You're welcome," he responds. "You can owe me."

She sees Stiles looking back at the two of them, checking to see what they're doing, his fingers laced loosely in Malia's hand. And Lydia decides that Isaac is getting a blow job tonight, because really, he's earned it.

* * *

 

Scott manages to build a fire that cackles bright and warm in the firepit on Lydia's back patio. The eight of them lounge on cushions and chairs around it, watching it snap and pop in its contained area, telling stories, and roasting marshmallows to make s'mores with. Stiles is _meticulous_ about the exact sheen of gold his marshmallow is when he pulls it out. Kira always undercooks hers. Malia eats all the burned ones because she likes the smokey taste. Scott takes all of the ones Stiles deems overcooked (has Lydia mentioned that he's ridiculously picky?) and Liam and Mason sit in the corner and gobble up s'more after s'more, to the point that Lydia's relatively certain Mason is going to get sick if he keeps at it.

They all decide that ghost stories aren't as funny anymore now that they have a sense of realism to them. Instead, they tell funny tales about things that happened to them in high school, middle school, and elementary school. There's a sticky moment where Stiles is talking about a girl he had a crush on who is _clearly_ Lydia. Her entire body tenses up, waiting for some words that will indicate that he still has a crush on her, but he covers it masterfully well. Malia doesn't seem to notice or be bothered by it at all. Lydia supposes she should be grateful that she isn't so good at smelling emotions yet.

Still, when Isaac places his hand on her back and strokes gently up and down, she's grateful.

Kira starts to yawn around midnight, and Scott, being the dutiful boyfriend that he is, suggests that they go to bed.

"Go ahead," Lydia says, smiling fondly at the two of them. "I'll stay and watch the fire. He touches the top of her head tenderly as he passes her.

"I'm going to go shower," Malia decides.

"Me too," states Isaac. "Lydia, you can have it when I'm done."

"Sure," she says easily, before realizing what he's doing.

Seriously. Isaac Lahey is a giant shit.

He leans down and kisses her on the mouth before he leaves, a kiss that is completely platonic and brief and has nothing behind it. But, across the campfire, Stiles' eyes seem to go up in flame.

(Lydia would say that Isaac is trying to be generous and shove the two of them together, but really she thinks he enjoys torturing Stiles more than he even wants Lydia to be happy. Which she's okay with. She totally understands enjoying torturing Stiles. She's got a couple ideas as to how to cause him more misery, honestly.)

She almost forgets that Liam and Mason are still there until Stiles grunts, "Isn't it past your bedtime?" at the two of them and glares— probably just because he can, and maybe a little bit because he wants something to be vindictive about.

He watches her as the other six vanish towards the house.

"What are you doing, Lydia?" he asked from across the campfire, his eyes serious, his voice almost disappointed.

Well. She certainly wasn't expecting that to happen so quickly.

"What do you mean?"

"You're sleeping with Isaac."

Lydia nods, letting her expression drift to purposeful confusion.

"And?" she says, sliding her eyes sideways and towards the stars in the dark sky.

"And he's going back to France at the end of the summer," Stiles points out.

"And?"

Stiles' frown always seems to deepen just when Lydia thinks it can't get any deeper.

"And you're gonna get hurt."

That's rich, coming from the boy who hurts her pretty fucking constantly.

Lydia doesn't say that. Instead, she condescendingly says "That's cute," and wrinkles her nose at the dying fire. Stiles let out an annoyed harrumph, then stands up, starting to walk away towards the house. He brushes past her roughly, footsteps getting softer as he walks away. Lydia tries to fight her own anger at him.

Then he stops walking away. And he walks back towards her. Feet slow, voice hesitant when he finally speaks.

"I just don't want you to—"

"You have literally no idea what you're talking about, Stiles," snaps Lydia. He drops onto the cushion next to her, the one that's close because Isaac had just been on it. When her eyes meet his, he looks earnest. Lydia shivers slightly even though she's wearing a hoodie.

"Look, Lydia, I know it's none of my business, but—"

"Exactly. Exactly! It's none of your goddamn business. And unless you're expecting me to ask some questions about your sex life with Malia, I think you should back the fuck off."

He looks startled at that. She feels vindicated.

But he's still glowing in the light of the fire, and he's so close, his face contorted into worry, and despite _everything_ he has done that hurts her, he is still the boy who has put so much time and love and faith into her. Even as she backed away from him, a little part of her has always been searching for the piece of him that used to reach out to her. She's given up. But she hasn't. Not at all. Not in any way. And in this moment, he's so close.

They were so close.

Stiles' body deflates, the intensity sliding out of his face as he backs off slightly, rubbing his palm over his jaw.

"What's going on with your powers."

She's surprised he's asking her. They haven't talked about this in a while.

"I'm learning."

"Do you need any help?"

"Not from you," she says, and he cringes slightly.

"Yeah," he replies, laughing low in his register. "Yeah, obviously."

God. She's making this even more of a mess than it is.

Or he is.

Or she is.

They both are?

She just _misses_ him.

"Look. I know what I'm doing with Isaac."

He looks up from his hands, eyes meeting hers.

"You do," he says skeptically.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I am _fine_ and it's going to be fine and you don't need to… do this."

"Do what?"

"Whatever it is you're doing."

"Worrying about you?"

Her breath catches in her throat. _Hello_ , she thinks. _I missed you_.

They stare at each other for too long.

"Stiles," she murmurs, eyes locked on his. "Don't."

He swallows.

"Don't worry about you?"

It feels like he's getting closer. Lydia's heart clenches as his lashes flutter when he looks down at her lips. She wonders if he's remembering the time they kissed. Sometimes it hits her, that moment, that _shift_ , and she can't escape it.

"Yes," she whispers.

"I'm always gonna."

The sweetness in his eyes when he meets hers is exactly enough for Lydia to pull away from this moment. She can remember too easily that this isn't what they do anymore. There was a chance. She'd dodged it. And it's over now.

The clock isn't ticking anymore. Time's up.

Lydia straightens her posture and then clears her throat, rising from her position on the cushion.

"I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed, if that's okay."

"Yeah. I'll watch the fire," he agrees, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

His voice is empty. She walks away, wishing for closeness again, and her heart is slamming angrily against her ribcage. She thinks she's probably furious with herself for walking away from him when she could have grabbed what she wanted, but the other part of her body is going wild for some other form of contact.

She stomps up the stairs, storms into her bedroom, and finds Isaac just getting out of the shower, his hair still wet.

"Hey," he says, eyes bright. "How'd it go with Stil—?"

"Bed. Now," Lydia instructs, slamming the door behind herself. He blinks at her in surprise as she kicks off her shoes, pulls her skirt down her legs, and throws the hoodie over her head. Impatiently, Lydia pushes him down onto the mattress and throws his towel to the side before she follows him onto the bed and straddles his hips, kissing him furtively. Her mouth is almost possessive as she trails it all over his neck and shoulders and chest, unbuttoning her shirt and letting him push it off of her shoulders and reach for her bra.

"Fuck," he moans as he gets hard underneath her, scrambling for a condom from her nightstand. Lydia doesn't even bother to take off her panties; just shoves them aside and rubs herself over him a few times before she finally sinks onto him, groaning at the contact.

Lydia fucks herself down onto him over and over again, whimpers in her throat as she uses him. Isaac holds her hips and just watches her, his teeth scraping at his bottom lip over and over again as he watches her intently.

She's startlingly wet and loud enough for Isaac to have to clamp his hand over her mouth as she comes, looking like he's trying not to laugh. Then she crawls lower on the bed and sucks herself off of him and he squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his fingers around her hair, coming in her mouth.

"There," Lydia says, straightening up and neatly wiping the corner of her mouth. "Now I don't owe you anymore."

Isaac lets out a disbelieving laugh.

"I'll say."

She crawls off of the bed and goes to the bathroom. Isaac comes in when she's brushing her teeth.

"So… you gonna tell me what happened out there?"

Lydia shakes her head.

"Nope."

Isaac ruffles his hair disbelievingly.

"Jesus, Lydia. He's really under your skin."

She wants to be mad at him, but that night she crawls into bed with him anyways and curls up into his side, allowing him to squeeze all the bad feelings out of her. They talk quietly to each other as they fall asleep, and the next morning she brings him coffee in bed.

It probably isn't enough to make up for the whole "I was totally using you because I wanted to be fucking someone else last night" thing, but Isaac still kisses her temple and tells her very seriously that she looks hot with messy hair.

* * *

 

"So. I guess this is it."

Lydia rolls her eyes and shoves Isaac's shoulder slightly before leaning up on her toes to hug him.

"Don't be so dramatic," she says, pulling away. "You'll come back to see us all graduate."

He nods, but he still looks hesitant to get into the security line, going where she can't follow him anymore. She's prepared for this moment of weakness by over compensating— her outfit is perfect, her hair curled, and her heels are some of the highest she owns. Because this is going to hurt. It just is. Even if she pretends that it doesn't.

"Right," Isaac says slowly.

"Plus we'll video call, just like we did before summer began," points out Lydia. "Nothing's going to change.

"I know," he says. "I just…"

She knows what he's going to say, and she swallows a lump in her throat. The people in the airport are milling about, saying goodbye to their loved ones, and all Lydia can think is that she has seen people's worlds _end_ and these people have no idea what they are truly risking by walking away from their families.

"You don't have to go back," she says gently. "You _don't_."

But Isaac shakes his head.

"I do."

"Why?"

Her bottom lip is stiff when she says it, and a little bit desperate. She wants him here, with her. She wants him to stay.

"Because," he says, shrugging. "I still have nightmares when I'm here."

She can't fathom a world where she ever escapes her nightmares, but apparently Isaac thinks it's a possibility, so Lydia forces a smile onto her lips and shakes her head, her throat thick.

"Of course," she says, trying to make herself seem gracious. "Now, go."

He nods once, then turns towards security. Two steps away, he pauses, turning around again.

"Lydia?"

"Yes," she says, her head tilted to the side as she waits for him to speak again.

"Stay safe. Please."

"Don't worry about me. It's just senior year. Nothing I can't handle."

Nothing they haven't already handled a million times.

"I know, but—"

"Come on," she says, trying to combat her own fear. "You saw us. We're a pack. We figure it out together."

Except sometimes, when he's not there, she still doesn't feel like she's really a part of the pack. Sometimes she think it's their pack, and they're just letting her come along for the ride, and Isaac had helped stop that feeling, and she's going to miss him _so_ much.

She strides up to him and hugs him again.

"Stay safe," he repeats. "It's senior year, but it's senior year in Beacon Hills."

Lydia kisses him tenderly on the cheek.

"You're going to be late," she says, because she doesn't want him to know that she's scared.

Instead, she carries the weight of her fear all the way out to the car, and hitches herself up into the passenger's seat before she blows out a long breath. Her heart beats once, twice, and three times before she clears her throat and buckles herself in.

Okay. She's okay.

"You okay?" asks Stiles, his eyes on her even as Lydia focuses on the windshield.

Okay. Maybe she's not okay.

"Fine," she says, a fake smile on her mouth. "We should get going, right?"

He's silent for a moment.

"You wanna listen to NPR?"

"Stiles, I'm _fine_."

"I know. I'm just in the mood to be educated by a plethora of middle-aged men with soothing voices."

"You don't have to—" Lydia begins, but Stiles turns on the radio and flips to the fourth preset. Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me! blares from the speakers, and Lydia straightens eagerly in her seat. Stiles puts his arm around the back of her chair as he backs out of the spot, grumbling under his breath about airport traffic but smiling every time she hollers out an answer before a contestant does.

A third of the way home, he's just as eager as she is, yelling the answers at the radio, and she feels that same euphoria that she'd felt that night by the fire. Halfway home, she realizes that she is settled comfortably back into her chair, and he's drumming his fingers happily against the wheel and letting his eyes drift disbelievingly to the radio whenever a contestant gets an answer wrong that he thinks was obvious.

By the time they pull up in front of her house, Lydia is flushed with happiness and feels like she's aching from laughter due to Stiles having gestured wildly and frustratedly at the radio a few times too many. She unbuckles her seatbelt and hops out of the car, somehow feeling lighter.

Until she turns around to say goodbye and sees him checking his phone and she realizes that Malia had probably texted him. And he has a girlfriend. And things are going to go back to exactly how they were when she sees him tonight.

Stiles is oblivious to her mood change as he sets his phone down on the seat she had vacated and looks up at her, his eyes happy.

"See you tonight at the senior scribe?" he says.

"Sure." Lydia nods. "I'll see you there."

They both pause for a moment.

"Can't believe we're seniors," Stiles mutters suddenly, a note of awe in his voice. When she looks at his face, she wonders if she's reading too much into his expression. Because here is what she sees:

She sees " _I can't believe I got you to senior year_." She sees " _I'd do it all again if it meant you were okay_." She sees " _I can't believe we made it all the way here, together, after all this time._ "

She sees, for the first time in months, someone who she thinks could maybe love her back. Someone who could love her back and is hurting the both of them. And suddenly, she's horribly tired.

"Well," Lydia says mutely. "Not all of us."

Then she closes the door on them without saying goodbye.


End file.
